


A Shard of Hell

by Yamxz (TightTights)



Series: Duality [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: A LOT of canon divergence, AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Animism, Chinese Mythology & Folklore, Established Relationship, Gay Sex, Hanamura is an advanced nation/planet, Kinda like an Asgard, M/M, Magic, Miscarriage, Mysticism, Non-Chronological, Overwatch is a news organization, Sequel, Sexual Content, Spirit Animals, dragon lore, mild Gency, mostly because it works for this story, relationship angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-31
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-04-15 00:20:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14147799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TightTights/pseuds/Yamxz
Summary: Sequel to 'A Piece of Heaven'.  With the generosity and partnership of Hanamura, Earth prospers since being declared a sister world.  Former rebel, reporter, and Dragon of Earth, Jesse McCree returns home carrying a wedding band on his finger, and fresh wounds in his heart.  When his dead eye begins fails him after Talon makes its first move in over a year, he and new allies on Earth must uncover the source of the dark power able to corrupt the light of the dragonstones.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! To any of you who have been eagerly awaiting this, THANK you for your patience and support! After much thinking, planning, and discarding, I think I finally have the courage and material to get this next installment rolling.
> 
> To readers who have not done so, I highly encourage you to read [A Piece of Heaven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11151420/chapters/24881892). The quick an dirty is that McCree was a reporter for Overwatch after having been a former rebel against Hanamura when they first made contact with Earth. He had his eye shot out during a battle, and was rescued by Gabriel Reyes. His eye was replaced with tech infused with dragonstone, which prompted a spiritual journey to unlock its power. On Hanamura he meets an outcast Hanzo, and they form a fast bond and Jesse eventually earns the right to wield the deadly accuracy of his Dead Eye. When Hanzo's father is slain, Hanzo becomes the new Dragon Lord Shimada, and proposes to Jesse. Meanwhile, a new incarnation of Talon lurks on Earth, formed as an underground resistance to Hanamurian rule.
> 
> I hope to have regular installments after the first few chapters I have going here, but may not come as rapidly as the first saga since there's going to be a lot more characters, mythology, and angst and such going on here. Hope you'll enjoy where it all leads!

The mid-morning sunlight feels toasty on McCree’s cheeks, a sign of what would be a scorching afternoon. While the City of Hanamura always had a crisp bite to its air, the heat and dryness of Numbani makes him sigh in comfort. Numbani's crystal skyscrapers seem more numerous and even taller than when he last visited almost a year ago. They tower above throngs of people gathered in the streets, shouting and laughing under large tents and in merchant stalls. The smells of barbecuing meat and frying vegetables makes his spirit soar.

He missed Earth. He missed home.

He thumbs the pamphlet in his hand. _The City of Harmony Welcomes You to The First Annual World Technology Fair_ , it declares on its cover. The following page has a picture and short biography of Nigeria’s President. The next page, a schedule of shows, including the crowning event: a special guest from Horizon Lunar Colony in the form of a live, talking gorilla, if Lucheng Interstellar's press release was to be believed.  He glances up as he squeezes past clumps of festival-goers.  Banners flutter about the city in the light breeze, depicting a bespectacled gorilla, posing with a book in hand, or with chalkboards, or with his human caretaker. _WELCOME, WINSTON!_ they say.

A single year brought about a century’s worth of progress for Earth. He sees more omnic faces among the crowds, levitating vehicles, and clusters of flying cruise ships hovering in the distance like alien dirigibles. Even more unexpected is that hardly anyone seems to recognize him as he wades through the teeming crowds. Or if they do, they pay him no mind. He cannot decide whether to be insulted or relieved, but he keeps his hat tipped down over his brow anyway. More than anything, he is content to listen to the thrumming din and smiling faces that reflect back a comforting optimism about Earth’s future.

Jack had to be here, somewhere. Gabriel would laugh knowing he thought of Jack as being a friendly face.

 _Gabriel.  What are you up to, now?_ _What would you say?_

He thumbs the silver, wispy band around his robotic ring finger, biting into his cigarillo. 

_Maybe something about how fitting it is that come back with my tail between my legs?_

"Be careful when crossing the street!"

The gentle, sing-song nature of the robotic voice stops McCree in his tracks. When he turns, his hand flies to the stock of Peacekeeper holstered at his hip. He only just resists the instinct to pull out his weapon and plug the omnic that addressed him.

The size of a fully-grown bull water buffalo, the centaurean creature is the spitting image of the model of omnic the late Dragon Lord threatened to unleash upon the Earth. In addition to its monstrous size, the gatling gun mounted on its arm did nothing to assuage his initial shock.

Nonetheless, its triangular eyes - pointed up in a glad-looking expression - confuse him, as does his fading adrenaline spike as swiftly as it came on. He continues to stay his hand when its flicker into full yellow spheres. In the same sing-songy voice, it says, "I'm sorry. Did I startle you?" Its eyes flicker again, its triangular shape pointing downward in a glum expression. "Efi is not pleased when I frighten visitors..."

"Uh, yeah," he admits, turning fully. He approaches the omnic to inspect it further, fascinated by the flourish of buffalo horns, and the artful splashes of green and brown were as crisp as the stretch of savannah after the rains. Despite his initial fears, the gentle colors and cheerful aura of the omnic made him feel strangely secure-- strange, if only for how rarely he felt that way.

His hand falls from the stock of Peacekeeper as the alarm bells in his head fall silent. "That's alright, though. No harm done. Thank you for the advice," he adds.

At that, the omnic returns to a delighted state. "Your safety is my primary concern!"

"That so?"

"I am programmed to serve and protect all living creatures.”

"What do they call you?"

The omnic nods its head. "I am an OR-15 unit, the first of my designation on Earth. But Efi calls me Orisa. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Jesse McCree, and likewise, Ms. Orisa," he says, tipping his hat.

"Jesse McCree? Scanning." After a pause, she reels. "Identity confirmed! It is an honor! Efi will be thrilled! If not for your efforts, I might not exist!" If the omnic could blush, he suspects it would be doing so by the way its eyes flicker and its head wags.

"Efi?"

"She is my creator."

His curiosity piques just as a tiny girl, her height barely stretching past his waist, approaches them. A golden tiara crowns her head, and a pair of headphones cover her ears. Two hoops dangle from the earpieces with horn-shaped charms, and white markings speckle her eyes. "Orisa! Are you bothering this man?" she asks the omnic.

Orisa's eyes flicker wide in shock. "Oh! My apologies! I did not mean to be so rude!"

Efi giggles, patting the omnic's flank. "I was just teasing you, Orisa."

"Oh. Noted. I shall store this interaction for later analysis to improve my social functions."

McCree watches the exchange in shock as it dawns on him that this tiny person must be Efi. He composes himself enough, however, to take off his hat and bow.   "Ain't no bother, ma'am."

The girl takes a moment to study him before her gaze lands on his right eye. She gasps, her eyes growing wide. “Are you him?  Jesse McCree?”

He tenses as her excited question draws attention and murmurs from passerbys, but replies cooly, “That’s me. And who do I have the honor?”

"Efi Oladele, at your service," she greets. "I see you have already met my newest invention! What do you think?”

“Frankly, I’m blown away. You and Orisa should be the real stars of this show, right along with Winston.”

“Really? You mean it?”

“Definitely. If you don't mind my askin', just how old are you exactly?"

"Eleven."

"I bet you get that question a lot.”

She nods, shrugging.

"You built Orisa all on your own?"

"Yep!"

"I have seen similar units before, you know. On Hanamura."

"Not surprising. The plans for the OR-15 were among many shared with Earth."

"Really?" McCree says, thinking he would have to ask Hanzo about it.  _If he ever had the chance again._ "How did you come across them?"

"The Adawe Foundation offered a grant to anyone willing to take it on.  Most saw the specs as too ambitious, and too costly to pursue. But me? I saw a way to protect my home. So I applied."

McCree cocks his head. "Protect your home? From what, little lady?"

Efi's lips tighten into a line.

"Never you mind," McCree says. "You don't gotta say. We all need a little protection, after all." He emphasizes by pulling aside his serape to show Peacekeeper at his belt. “And I can certainly say that I prefer your Orisa over Hanamura’s OR-15s anyday of the week.”

She grins. "Thank you! You are as cool as they say, Master McCree."

"Oh, no," he says, chuckling. "None of that 'master' stuff, ya hear? And if anythin’, it's my honor to to meet you. Assures me that Earth’s in good hands without me."

She giggles. “That is very kind.”

“Overwatch ought to give you and your inventions a special feature, if they haven’t already.”

Her face lights up. “You think so?”

“Absolutely. I’ll have a word with Jack next time I see him.”

“Oh, that would be fantastic! Thank you!”

“It’d be my pleasure.” He looks up to Orisa. “Hope you’re ready for a close up.”

She responds, “I will do whatever makes Efi happy.”

Efi pats Orisa on her flank, smiling broadly.

McCree tips his hat and says, “Well, if you’ll pardon me little lady, I’m looking for an old friend. A pleasure to make your and Orisa’s acquaintance,” McCree says, bowing demurely.

“Yours, too!” Efi says, curtseying.

Orisa’s eyes flicker to a pleased expression. “Goodbye, and be careful!”

It takes a while to digest his amazement over the prodigy he just met, and to reconcile that such a friendly omnic was no longer a death machine.  From what he could figure, all it took to make the difference was the pure vision and idealism of a child.

* * *

 

McCree wakes with a start.  His right eye itches, and he blinks before rubbing away accumulated morning crust.  

He blinks again.  "Hey."

Beside him, Hanzo stirs.  He snorts in an aborted snore, then blows out a lungful of air before settling back into the mattress.

McCree smiles down at him.  With his human finger, he tucks away a stray lock of ashen hair behind Hanzo's ear.  He next slides back under the sheets, gently resting the stump of his left arm along the curve of Hanzo's hip, and careful not to tickle his perfect skin.

But Hanzo rouses again nonetheless, turning about under McCree's arm until they are face-to-face.  Though unfocused and bleary, Hanzo meets his gaze.

"Morning, beautiful," McCree says to him.

"Good morning, Jesse," Hanzo says, in a throaty rumble that electrifies him.  An errant pulse of desire warms his cock. There's no hiding it as both men are bare as the day they were born.

"I'll never get sick of hearing that," McCree says.  Hanzo leans in to kiss him, and McCree can feel Hanzo’s own growing desire press into his thigh.

"Turn over," Hanzo growls with the grin of a dragon looking down upon his hoard.  McCree sighs as he follows his command, offering himself up to divine pleasure only gods might know.

After gentle preparation, Hanzo takes him, mates him, completes him with possessive snap of his hips that would be alarmingly desperate if it were not also arrestingly tender.  McCree groans and aches, but he doesn't come-- even as their lovemaking trickles down the backs of his thighs. McCree forbids himself to come until Hanzo turns him, descends between him, and swallows him down with gusto.  

"I am curious to see my first Earth cock," Hanzo had told him on their first night together.  Given Hanzo's insistence and enthusiasm in devouring him to completion, McCree suspects something of an obsession with his Earth cock that makes his heart soar as high as his own heady climax.

To be fair, McCree cannot say he did not have an equally eager fascination about Hanzo's Hanamurian anatomy, as he was unsure of what might complement his expanse of flawless skin, his taut, broad chest, the enchanting sleeve of his left arm, and the piercing blue of his eyes.  A flared tip and ribbing did, apparently, with a plumpness that advertised his ripe fertility. McCree’s soul left his body that night, partly from terror, but mostly from imagining what it would feel like having Hanzo so deep and so close. He learned soon after that his imagination was nowhere near adequate.

He comes with ugly grunting, and a sigh pushed out from his throat.  Hanzo rises from his feast between McCree's legs, and they kiss with open mouths and sloppy tongues as their wild pulses ease in their afterglow.  McCree pecks his mate on the temple as they settle, wishing for a temporal bubble to wrap around their room, sealing them away from the fraught universe outside, so they can enjoy this life for as long as they could ever want or need.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm telling this story non-chronologically, and hope that will be clear by the line breaks and context and such.


	2. Chapter 2

The Numbani Heritage Museum looms at the end of the avenue. As McCree snakes through the crush of visitors, he locks onto the bolt of silver hair he had been searching for, just beyond a cordoned-off press area. He beelines to it.

Jack, ever the soldier at heart, paces just behind a firing line of cameras, technicians, and wranglers. To see him in out in the open was like catching sight of an endangered species - and therefore underscored the event’s significance. Overwatch planned to deliver Winston’s arrival live, and from all angles, it seemed. As Jack continues to bark orders and keep his staff on task, McCree ducks under one of the partitions. Thumbs looped at his belt, he clears his throat.

Jack pauses his pacing and whips around. His eyes narrow, but the corner of his lip curls up. "Well I'll be goddamned. Excuse me, Your Highness. Might have appreciated some advance notice you were coming down from your lofty palace to grace us with your presence."

McCree snorts and replies, "What if I offered you an exclusive?"

The bags under Jack's eyes and the haphazard shape of his short crop of hair suggests that he has been a busy man, as does the subdued shrug of his shoulders. "Generous offer, but your fifteen minutes are over, cowboy. To the fickle attention of the public, you're as antiquated as your spurs these days."

"And a talking gorilla is supposed to be the new hot shit, huh? Sounds like just a gussied-up sideshow, yet you're calling me antiquated."

Jack grins. "Perhaps. But the Horizon Lunar Colony has become a symbol of the knowledge Hanamura has shared with us. It could be historic, or it could be just an awkward footnote of mad science and morbid curiosities."

"So I've gleaned from what trickles over to my side of the galaxy. But like you say: 'trust, but verify.'"

Jack chuckles.

“By the way, there’s an eleven-year-old genius here you ought to track down after the big event. Efi Oladele, grant recipient of the Adawe Foundation. _Eleven_ , Jack.  She built and repurposed one of Hanamura’s most sophisticated omnic designs. Real sweetheart, too.”

“Thanks for the tip, but I find it hard to be surprised anymore these days,” Jack says. "Each day brings more and better advancements than the last. We’re only just able to keep up with demand for coverage.”

“Hard to believe it's been just a year.”

“Got that right. In just a year, Overwatch - hell, Earth - has grown stronger than it ever was."

"It's a reflection of you, if you don’t mind me sayin’. You always were one tenacious son of a bitch."

"Keep the praise. Overwatch rests on the backs of a fine staff. Even you, though can hardly believe I'm saying it. You really came through for us after the old HQ went up in smoke."

A cold snap chills the silence, and McCree feels it in his bones. _Gabriel_ , the shared, unspoken hex over their heads. Jack clears his throat before saying, "Still find it hard to imagine Hanamura being interested in current events on Earth."

McCree rocks back on his heels, rolling the butt of his cigarillo between his lips. "To be fair, they're interested in everything Earth since being declared a sister world. We’re a novelty. Overwatch was just a natural conveyor to feed the curiosity."

"Still, it saved me the trouble of finding personnel to lead our branch there. Personnel I can trust."

And there it was again, the unnamed spectre leaping into view. McCree, unable to dance around this particular elephant for too long, addresses it head-on. "You come across any trace of him yet?"

"No,” Jack answers tersely. “And I don't suspect I will."

"Come on.”

“That’s all I’ve got.”

"Have you tried?"

Jack glowers at him. "Tried? Of course I've tried. Who the fuck do you think you're talking to?"

McCree holds up his hands. "Alright, alright. Settle your horses."

"You knew him as well as I did. Maybe even better than I did. So you know that he ain't going to be found until he wants to be." Jack taps his temple, and a holographic mask materializes across the bridge of his nose. “Even this little bit of tech turned out to be useless. I don’t suppose you’re wanting it back?”

“It’s yours. I said so the first time.” McCree gestures to his dead eye and says, “Ain’t like I need it.”

Jack’s shoulders slump, all the fight in him leaving. “Listen, I wish I had more to share,” he says, sighing. “If I had, you think I’d be playing ringmaster here?”

“Point taken.”

Jack huffs.

“Nah, you’re right about ‘im not wanting to be found until he’s good and ready. It's just been on my mind, and I know it’s been doubly so for you. Him, Talon. What could he have been doing this whole time?”

Jack nods. "While things may seem calm and peaceful on the surface, we both know his anger never cools.  Not completely."

"Just goes further underground like a lava floe, bidin' it's time. I got a bad feeling Hell's gettin' ready to break loose, Jack."

"Is that why you're here now?"

McCree drops his chin. "If I'm bein' honest, no. Not exactly."

Jack regards him with a brow raised. "Trouble in paradise?”

McCree tenses.  “Somethin’ like that,” he admits.

“Maybe we should schedule that exclusive."

At that, McCree breaks into a grin. "Maybe over a brew sometime. Say, where's the rest of the gang?"

"I'm spearheading this one, so most of the crew has their own assignments elsewhere. But Lena should be somewhere around here, if you can catch her. She’s had a rough year, too, so don’t be fooled by the brave face.”

“You don’t say? Well, then I think I’ll go track her down. Nice chatting with you, big man.”

Jack grunts, turning away to resume barking his orders to the Overwatch technicians-- as good as a farewell from him as any.

* * *

Though red was his usual color, McCree had to admit he looked good in white. Damn good.

"It is a gaudy color," Hanzo had said with his signature heavy frown that McCree loved. McCree assured him he would change his mind once he saw him strut down the aisle, omitting that he had already commissioned the hat and serape.

He takes one last step to the side in front of the mirror, making one last millimeter adjustment to his hat. "Showtime, loverboy."

He feels like a million bucks when he steps out into the royal court. Yet despite all the attention to detail going into his outfit down to his pearl-encrusted spurs, he imagined himself in no better than a burlap sack when Hanzo emerges, joining McCree under the grand mural of the four dragons.  Green to the east, blue to the south, red to the west, and gold to the north.

Robed in deep blue silks and adorned with sapphire, the Blue Dragon Lord, wrym of the south and of midnight, fully embraces himself as its avatar, as though riding in on the tide like a god of the sea. The wave of his majesty rolls over McCree, imparting a sense of weightless, even after Hanzo takes his place in the center of the room. McCree cannot stop staring at him, and his lungs ache as though he plunged headlong into that very sea.

"Close your mouth," Hanzo whispers to him, a tug of a smile at his lip. As McCree composes himself, for an instant, he is thankful for Hanzo's insistence on no cameras.  Without them, McCree tries to commit as much detail as he can to memory.  Before them, a fine ceramic pitcher of wine and matching cups. The air, fragrant with flowers and salt. A hand drum, its gentle beat ringing out through the great hall of wood and stone.

It is a pleasant, serene, and a faithful outcome of Hanzo's conservative wishes. For his sake, McCree struggles to tamp down a rebellious sense of disappointment in his failure to talk Hanzo into at least one camera. Even with the promise of the recording being for their personal collection, not for Overwatch and the public, his spouse-to-be balked.

In addition to no cameras, Hanzo insisted on only close family and friends attend the ceremony, minus the requisite staff. The grand space felt even bigger and emptier with the two of them, and with only Pharah, Ana, Genji witnessing.

But there was one thing McCree did get in exchange for his concessions, however.

Rings.

"They're a common symbol of marriage on Earth," McCree had explained. "It just ain't right to me without 'em, Hanzo."

With more curiosity than skepticism, Hanzo agreed.

It took little more than the suggestion for Ana to play ringbearer, she herself charmed by the Earthen tradition. McCree forgets all about his previous disappointments when she appears along the walkway, carrying a down pillow in her upturned palms. On the pillow rest two silver bands, each inlaid with pockets of pure white dragonstone from the Forge itself, dotting the metal with wispy light. At a reverent pace, she brings the pillow around to settle on a stand just behind the sake table.

One of the rings is of a much larger diameter than the other, and does not slide on so much as clamp onto McCree's metal ring finger, as tightly as a nut on its bolt.

"So I can always look at it, without havin' to fuss with my glove," he explained while having it sized.

In the days following the ceremony, he puts aside any mention of the stab of hurt he feels when he notices Hanzo removing the ring every night before bed, and sometimes when he goes to practice his archery-- as though it were like any other kind of jewelry.  He supposed he expected too much to have Hanzo as invested in an Earthen symbol as he was.

Until one night, just as they settle into bed, Hanzo asks him why he insisted on having the Forge imbue their rings.

"The Forge is about hope, right? Then so long as there is hope, we will never be parted."

Stunned into speechlessness, Hanzo crashed over him then, his passion all but consuming him. After that night, the ring never came off his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

“Give me a break,” McCree says, rolling his cigarillo between his fingers. “The sun ain't even up, darlin'.  I hoped we’d be able to sleep in.”

“The demands of rule never sleep,” Hanzo replies, wrapping up his bare torso in a silken robe. It makes McCree ache to see those hard muscles and skin disappear under the fabric.

McCree loves him dearly. More than he ever loved anyone in his wretched life, and the fleeting nature of it makes him sit up a little straighter. Hanzo seems to notice as he turns to glance up to him.

“Guess I should make myself useful, then, too,” McCree says, putting the smoke to his lips. “Somehow.”

Hanzo smiles at him over his shoulder. “I find you very useful already.  Even when you forget not to smoke in bed.”

McCree curses under his breath, ashamed, not for the first nor for the last time over his force of habit.  Leaning over, he quickly crushes the cigarillo out in an ashtray on the nightstand.  Hanzo is slipping on his shoes by the time he settles back against the pillow. 

An intrusive thought invades his mind, though by now it had recurred often enough for him embrace it, and to have it curl around his next words.  Since their wedding, it had been impossible to ignore.  “Say, Hanzo?”

“Hm?”

"How long to you folks live for, average?"

Hanzo raises his brow, his temples twitching with thought. "Hanamurians can live very long lives, thanks to the technological blessings of the Forge. Without such aids, however, our natural lifespans can be eighty years or more, in your measure. Shimada, however, have been known to exceed one hundred years. The oldest Shimada in our records lived to one hundred forty-seven."

"A green dragonstone type of fella?" McCree surmises.

"Indeed.” Hanzo’s gaze falls to the floor. “It has crossed my mind that if Genji were to have my place as Dragon Lord, then he might be the first to live forever. So long as the green lasts, and for as long as he can maintain his omnic body."

"Will he take your place?"

"Only if I were to come to an untimely end without an heir to my name," Hanzo says, his expression downturn.

 _An heir_. McCree clears his throat and says, "Well, Earth folks live for about as long as your average, though our multitude of vices can cut that down pretty significantly. So while you may have another century left in you, I can't say the same for myself."

Hanzo turns to him, and with grave seriousness, "What is it are you trying to say?”

“I’ve just been thinkin’ about the future, and how I’m supposed to fulfill my duties as your mate.”

Hanzo regards him for a moment. “Are you clumsily telling me you wish to breed?"

McCree coughs on his own saliva as the blunt statement strikes him. "I guess when you put it so romanticlike, I suppose there's no real hurry," He hides his embarrassment by rolling over on the mattress, away from Hanzo.

The embarrassment eases, however, when Hanzo crawls in next to him.  His breath ghosts across his shoulder when he says, "No, I just...I just did not expect to be discussing children so soon. Jesse, do not be ashamed. I am flattered by your eagerness."

McCree inhales, taking in the scent of the castle, of the sweet flowers all about their bedroom, of Hanzo. Then, it bursts from him, all at once: "I just want to be a daddy before I start coughin' dust, and before the rest of my limbs start to fall off."

The mattress shifts when Hanzo stands from the bed. He declares, "Then you shall have it. Next when we make love, we shall collect that love. With our knowledge, our love, and the blessing of the Forge, our mingling will create the seed. From it, our child will grow.”

At that, McCree twists around. "Grow?  In what? You make it sound like we’re gonna conceive a potted plant."

Hanzo grins. “Remind me, and I will show you. But for now, I have some matters that require my attention.”

 

* * *

 

McCree circles back to the Numbani Museum after finding little sign of Lena. The steps of the museum have been cleared and roped off, and a podium sits off to the side of where a grand stage has been erected. He looks up sharply when he hears a whistle coming from somewhere above him.

A second whistle helps him pinpoint the source. His lip curls into a wry smile. There, on a raised walkway, Lena waves to him in her exaggerated and bubbly style. When he waves back, she points over to a set of stairs, cordoned off and flanked by two policemen.

He notes security being rather light for the event, something of a token force emblazoned with _Helix Security_  on their jackets.  He had never heard of them until now.  But with the convivial atmosphere of the festival, however, it was perhaps only necessary to project the barest notion of safety, and to guide any stray traffic away from private property.  The nearest stairs up to the walkway appeared to be one such forbidden area, but in his case, it only takes a show of his dead eye, and a flash of recognition from the security guards before they lift the barrier and gesture for him to proceed. He steps past, tipping the brim of his hat.

He winds around up to the balcony, and Lena’s bright smile seems to light up the day even more than the noon sun. While Lena seems the same as ever, McCree puzzles over what is decidedly not. About her chest and back piece of technology he has never seen before. He tips his hat to Lena as he approaches her.

“Howdy, partner!” she greets.

McCree smiles. “Howdy. Good seein’ you.  How'd you even get up here?”

Suddenly, in a blur of blue, Lena tackles him in a bear hug, the speed of which alarms and jostles him. “It’s been too long, partner,” she says.  "And they never saw me!"  She playfully puts a finger to her lips.

McCree chuckles, saying, “That it has, darlin’. Sorry I didn’t send a postcard. Say, somethin’s different about you.” When he steps back from her, he cannot avoid the issue. “What’s this doohickey you got strapped on you?”

Lena looks down to the pulsating device over her chest. “Oh. Right. It’s nothing.”

“Nothin'?” McCree says with a scoff.

“No biggie.  I'll tell you about it later.  Just part of the job these days. With so much experimental tech cropping up to report on, there are bound to be just as many hazards someone might run into.”

All his previous mirth drains from him, and he frowns. “What kind of hazards?”

She sighs. “Can we talk about it later? Let’s not spoil the moment.”

He gives her one last quirk of his brow, resolving to get the truth out of her sooner rather than later. Reluctantly, he says, “Alright, peach.”

She turns, stepping to look out towards the teeming square.  “We sure have missed you around our neck of the woods.”

“I don’t know about everyone,” McCree says. “Jack seemed as ornery as ever.”

Lena grins. “Rubbish. The old man most of all. You were the only other person who really knew...um...him.”

McCree sighs. Since he landed on Earth, Gabriel seemed to shadow him like a phantom, a sensation he had yet to shake off. He folds his flesh arm over his machine one. He stands off to the side, upon a raised walkway cordoned off by security for authorized personnel like himself.  The silver band around his metal ring finger crackles with white light.  His attention drifts, and he scans the crowd for perhaps the hundredth time, his dead eye whirring and searching.

_Gabriel. Are you watching this, too?_

“You really think they done it? Taught a gorilla to talk?” McCree hears tumble from his mouth before his brain catches up.

Beside him, Lena rocks on her heels. She says, “Pssht. Not just talk. This apeish fellow could run quantum circles around us, if the press announcement is to be believed. He’s a genius. I can’t wait to meet him!” Lena says, bubbling with mirth. “The Horizon transport should have disembarked by now.”

“Can’t say I’d ever predict that so much would come from Hanamurian tech.”

“Anything’s possible, now. All thanks to you, Mister Dragon.”

McCree falls dumb at that, holding back what he wants to say.  _Not everything._   He is only able to nod as the moniker makes his head ring like a church bell.  He sighs, absent-mindedly thumbing the ridges of his wedding band.

Lena pauses her rocking, her attention drawn to the glimmering band on his finger. “Gorgeous,” she says.

McCree raises and tilts his wrist so that its white light glimmers like diamonds. “Thank you,” he says neutrally. He flexes his robotic hand, and the ring glints again. “The one bit of Earth tradition I insisted on. With a little of the Forge’s fancy hocus pocus mixed in to boot,” McCree says.

He shuts his eyes as his cheeks color over. His declaration rings through his mind:

_That so long as there is hope, so we will have our bond._

Lena rocks on her heels, hands clasped behind her. "I’m convinced he’s not such a bad guy, but I’m still reeling over the fact you went and got hitched to him.”

Her voice fades into the background din as his nerve weakens and he flirts with the desperate urge to book the next flight back to Hanamura. To hell with his pride. Sweat drips off the brim of his hat as he swelters in the African heat, yearning to feel Hanzo’s skin against his own again. He clears the lump in throat, and with it the mental image from his mind. He says, "It's what you do when you find someone special, ain't it? Don’t matter where they come from.”

Lena giggles. “Special? Only just the Lord of freaking _dragons_. I still can’t believe your book is shelved under nonfiction. It reads like a fairytale, love.”

“Aside from any abuses of poetic license, it’s all true, no yarn.” With his right hand flat, he raises his other in mock oath, saying, “So help me God.”

Lena giggles. “Well, I’m happy for you. I'm surprised you can even tear yourself away from the lap of luxury to come back to Earth. Brave, too.”

"My head ain’t all in the clouds, darlin’. Still got my boots planted here on this hunk o’ rock. And the rest of me’s still in purgatory.”

He wishes he could take the last remark back when Lena shoots him a look. “You’re not havin’ a row with the Dragon guy, are you?”

“Now that, little lady, ain’t a very polite line of questioning.”

Lena gives him a once-over, then shrugs. “I’ll let that bit of rubbish slide, since I suppose you are still alive and standing, and without a bounty on your head.”

“Not this time,” he says with a wink. Eager to divert the conversation, McCree glances up to the podium. “Tell me, when’s this Winston fella supposed to show?”

She turns her gaze with his out upon the crush of fellow onlookers below. “Any minute now, I guess. The shuttle touched down about an hour ago. President Adeyemi himself should be with the escort.”

“Then it ain’t no wonder Jack’s so jumpy-”

He lurches forward. Something - rather, someone - shoves past him, and rather rudely at that as the cigarillo nearly knocked from his lip. McCree catches the butt of it, is about give the stranger a piece of his mind when he stops short, distracted by the fiery tips of the stranger’s strawberry blond hair, ratty clothes, and limp on his peg leg. McCree’s brain stops its cataloging at _peg leg_.

The prosthetic arm on the stranger intrigues him as well, however, and for a moment he forgets his unspoken curses and the intrusion on his space. The charred figure before him looks like he just pulled himself out from under a trainwreck, yet there is also something familiar about the bits of rubber and myriad sharp edges that make up his peculiar fashion sense.

“Hey! Only members of the press can be up here!” Lena says to the intruder.

It’s only then that the flame-kissed stranger even seems to notice them, as though catching a whisper in his ear. He turns, gives them both a once-over and replies, “Hey, yourself!” He limps a step towards him, hunched, making McCree wonder what belfry is missing its attendant. “Hey!”

McCree starts, realizing a half-second later that the last remark was aimed squarely at himself. “Hey,” McCree parrots flatly. He squares up and squints, put off by the smell of diesel and char emanating from this strange figure. “I’m afraid I have to agree with the lady. A fella like you don’t look like you belong in up here.”

Lena quips, “Yeah! This is press pass and VIP only. If you’re lost, we can find someone to escort you to where you need to go.”

“Lost? I ain’t lost!” the man insists, his eyes rolling, and speaking as though it was the stupidest thing he heard that day. The man’s sunken eyes return McCree’s appraising look as he says, “Wait a minute. Aren’t you that uh, what’s it now? Jency MacCreed, was it?” tumbles out of his mouth in a thick drawl. The man ducks his head down to peer under the brim of Jesse’s hat. He perks up. “Yeah, you got that bloody weird eye! Pull it out so I can have a looksee, would ya?”

McCree leans back from him when his fingers hover dangerously close to his eye, his face hovering too close for comfort. “Jesse McCree, actually. In the flesh. And no.”

The stranger pulls back with a shake of his head. “Hooley-dooley! I was hopin’ I’d come across you. Youse a big shot now, accordin’ to me porcine sources.”

“Porcine?”

“Yeah. My mate runs the bar you holed up in when the Talon fuzz was lookin’ for you.”

Despite himself, McCree grins, broadening as fond memories of Hanzo’s mattress being thrown out into the alley pass through his mind. A burst of laughter then flies from McCree’s lip before he can contain it, drawing Lena’s puzzled look. “Well I’ll be damned. Roadhog, right? We didn’t part ways on the best of terms, you know.”

The stranger cackles, then says, “Too right! Me ol’ mate Rutledge was a dog’s hair away from shuttin’ it all down and retirin’. That is, until you and your dragonly boo went and shit the royal bed.” He gives McCree a mock salute. “Bravo, by the by. Now, business is boomin’ with everyone hearin’ about how he once almost swindled the Dragon of Earth. He forgives you, just so you know.”

“Well, now I can sleep at night." Suddenly, his mind seizes on an unsettling fact. “You’re from the same homeworld, ain’t ya?”

Lena cuts in, saying, “Whoa, now hold on. You say you’re from another world? Another planet?”

“So what if I am?” the stranger says.

“Consider my curiosity piqued as to what doing here among us. Did more come with you?”

“Gods, no. Just me and me own best self, havin’ an gander at the most famous planet in the galaxy. Gotta say, I’m not the least bit impressed. This place is the worst. Dull buildings, dull people, dull, dull, dull! How do you people stand it? Where’s the fireworks?”

“Then what do you think about all this?” She gestures to the crowds and the podium.

“Me? Who gives a toss what all this hubbub is about. I’m just passin’ through, honest.”

“Like hell,” McCree says.

“You wanna bet on that, mate?” the stranger says.

“What’s your name?” Lena asks.

The stranger regards her with a squint in one of his eyes. He then straightens and makes an exaggerated bow. “Jamison Fawkes, at your service, my liege. Though me mates call me Junkrat.”

Lena scoffs. “That’s one thing that makes sense about you, at least.”

Junkrat says, “Not like _you’ll_ need to remember it. Figures the alien dragon and his pals would be just as snooty and posh as the rest of ‘em,” he says with a grin, flashing a row of surprisingly intact teeth. “Now as I recall from our chats, Rutledge gave you and your princely paramour a place to hole up for a spell out of the goodness of his heart. He and I go way back. So if you got any mind for him, then you’ll point me in the direction of something interesting, and I’ll be on me merry way, yeah?”

Lena rolls her eyes. “Dream on. Daft and loony is what you are. I think we ought to point you to the nearest Helix Security station, regardless of what planet you’re from.”

He reels. “Rude!”

McCree raises his metal hand. “Now hold up. Let’s not get hasty. That Roadhog fella did help Hanzo out in a pinch. He gave him a roof over his head when no one else would. I’m inclined to offer the man some leniency just this once. Why don’t you stay up here with us a spell? Show’s just about to start.”

Junkrat blinks. “Show?”

“Yep, show. This here is a celebration. I bet there’ll be fireworks after. The best spot in town is gonna be right here.”

“Truly?” Junkrat purses his lips and nods. “Say, maybe you ain’t such a royal pomp after all.”

Before Lena can protest once more, McCree leans in to speak into her ear. “With him here, we can be sure to keep an eye on ‘im.”

Lena sighs with displeasure, almost visibly chewing on it, but she relents as Junkrat plops down to lounge on his side.


	4. Chapter 4

He feels a bit like a stud horse when their next lovemaking session comes around.  At the very least, they have the privacy of their bed chambers.  Hanzo jerks him, his dragon eyes so glassy and lidded that he almost forgets the cup when McCree warns him, mere seconds before he comes.  Hanzo kisses him roughly, stroking him through it as he coats the container.  Without breaking from his lips, Hanzo deftly seals the cup and places it next to his own specimen on the nightstand.

McCree collapses back into the soft pillows, sweaty and musky.  "That's it?" he says. 

"For now."

"Now what?"

Hanzo rolls to the side, settling into bed next to him. "Your potted plant analogy is more apt than perhaps you intended. We now create a seed, which we can choose to implant and grow whenever we are ready."

The flush travels through McCree’s core, and further to reawaken him. “‘Implant’?"

"For couples like us, an embryo may be implanted in an incubator that may be worn by one of the parents. It is removable, so that parents may share in the duty of fostering a bond."

McCree blinks dumbly, his mouth falling open as he struggles to imagine such a device.  "You might have to show me one of these things."

Hanzo bolts from the bed, swiftly donning his blue silken haori. "I will have one fetched."

After a terse order to a servant outside, a strange machine is brought to them. Hanzo takes it, dismisses the attendant, and hands it to McCree. He rotates the oddly-shaped device to examine it. Its casing looks as pale and delicate as an egg, bulging out in the shape of a distorted teardrop. Its soft straps suggest it being worn like a sling.

“May I?” Hanzo asks, placing a hand atop McCree’s.

“Be my guest,” McCree says, and Hanzo moves the device to McCree’s hip. He wraps it around the side of him just above his hipbone, and fastens its support straps up and over his shoulders, feeling like a weird guitar. Hanzo’s finger grazes a switch, and the device suddenly contracts so that it hugs his body closely-- almost uncomfortably so, but he finds the snug material against his ribs somewhat flexible at least.

"The growing child is exposed to the closeness and warmth of the parent, while its growth and development may be viewed and monitored at all times,” Hanzo explains. He presses another button, and the white shell exterior retracts, exposing a crystal-clear capsule within. McCree can see right through now, but he imagines that when in use, he’ll have a full and unimpeded view of a developing child.

McCree fails to form words that suffice. It is not just omnics or dragonstones that make Hanamura so advanced and incredible-- it's solutions like these, he realizes. He would never have felt the thrill of fatherhood like this on Earth, with Earth technology. Hanamura never seemed more wonderful to him than anything else.

"Let's do it," McCree says, breathless.

"Hm?"

McCree wets his dry lips, placing a hand on the bulge of the incubator over his stomach. "Let's make ourselves a little dragon. Sooner the better.”

Hanzo places a hand over McCree's atop the incubator.

“Then let’s get the rodeo started,” Hanzo says, smiling with an unmistakable invitation.

 

* * *

 

Heavy horns blare, loud enough to silence the din of the crowd and pulls McCree’s attention back from Junkrat and toward the end of the street opposite the podium. An armored personnel carrier also winds through the throng, each flanked by bipedal omnics with rifles at the ready.  Each unit is emblazoned with  _Helix Security International_.

“I guess we know where Helix Security put their resources,” Lena says.

“They expecting trouble?” McCree says, counting at least a dozen of the omnic escorts.

“A precaution, perhaps,” Lena whispers back, though he does not miss the nervous crack in her voice. Behind the APC, a town car limousine hovers along through the streets towards the cultural center. Lena points, “That must be President Adeyemi.”

Winding the corner, resting on a levitating truck bed, an enormous capsule appears. It is cloaked in a white sheet, with it and the capsule’s corners secured with tethers to the platform. It trails behind the limousine, and behind that are another APC and another half-dozen security units. The convoy pulls up to the steps of the cultural center, where at the bottom sits a microphoned podium under a bevy of flag poles. The truck bed hauls itself and the covered capsule up the steps, where it pulls to a stop directly above the podium.

The limo stops off to the side, and the driver scurries to the passenger door to open. A man steps out from the vehicle, but instead of wearing a suit, the bespectacled man is robed in a long lab coat.

“Who’s that?” McCree asks.

Lena puts a finger to her chin, humming as she thinks. “Oh! That must be Doctor Harold Winston. He's one of the leading scientists with Lucheng Interstellar, the company behind it all.”

“So Winston is the named for the doctor?” McCree says as he observes Dr. Winston smile and wave at the crowd. He glances over to Jack and his line of cameras. Jack nods, and motions that all is a go.

“Where is the President?” Lena asks, he brow knitted.

The gathered crowd quiets as Dr. Winston begins: “Good morning, citizens of Earth, and a good day to his Lordship and the people watching on Hanamura! It is my distinct privilege and humble honor to welcome you to The First Annual World Technology Fair. But such a title does not quite capture the spirit I have witnessed during this occasion. The spirit between all of us that is full of harmony and wonder, and what this gathering of minds means for all of us, here on Earth. Seeing all of your faces, human and omnic alike, I would like to submit a far more fitting name for this wondrous occasion, where we have all come together as equals in the pursuit of a better tomorrow. I hereby call this day, Unity Day!”

Approval comes as booming whoops and thunderous applause. He nods and smiles through it, and when the noise dies down, he continues, “Our gratitude to Hanamura cannot be overstated. To Hanamura, I say that if not for your patronage, your mentorship, and your friendship, the miracle we present to you today would still only know existence within our imaginations. It has been so very long since I began my work on Horizon, and if not for the commission of Lucheng Interstellar, the spark in our imaginations would have never caught fire.” He gestures to the sky, saying, “Now, Horizon has allowed us to prove that the only limits are our imaginations!”

McCree’s heart warms at the words, and applause erupts as Dr. Winston takes a break to smile and bask in the raucous noise.

The noise dies suddenly, however, when hollow knocking rings out, like knuckles against a pane of glass. Then, muffled by the glass, “Uh, can we hurry up with the speeches, Dad? It was a long flight from the Moon and I’m about to turn the inside of this capsule into an aquarium.”

Dr. Winston makes a face, but McCree starts to chuckle. He expects a jab to his ribs, but it doesn’t come as Lena slaps a hand over her mouth, daring herself not to laugh. Fortunately, the crowd is on their side as a din of laughter erupts.

Dr. Winston sighs, and glances back over his shoulder to the capsule. He gestures to one of the omnic wranglers, and the curtain comes down. Jack’s cameras snap to and recording lights twinkle. There, in a white and gold spacesuit, sits a gorilla, replete with spectacles and crowned with a complicated-looking headset. The animal is in the midst of fogging up his side of the glass with his breath, and proceeds to draw a smiley face. “Hello!” he greets excitedly with a wave.

“Aw! I adore him already!” Lena says.

An omnic inputs a command into a terminal on the capsule, and the seams of the glass window finally pop loose, and the panel retracts with a lazy hiss. Once open, the gorilla grins before he leaps - in the blink of an eye - down the entire flight of steps and lands with a heavy thud next to the doctor at the podium. His great weight produces a plume of dust which the doctor waves away from his mouth, coughing.

The gorilla inhales deeply, revelling in his first breath on Earth. Propping up on his short legs and a set of monstrous knuckles, the gorilla salutes the two men and the crowd, saying, “Greetings, people of Earth! Winston, at your service! Pardon my dust-- Earth’s gravity is going to take some getting used to.”

Despite the improvised entrance, the doctor smiles, then turns to the crowd. “Yes,” he says, brushing off his shoulder. “Please, everyone! Raise your applause with me in welcoming Winston!’”

The crowd erupts into applause and cheers. McCree finds himself joining in with enthusiasm, more impressed than he anticipated.

“That’s what all this is about?” Junkrat says, leaning backward to shoot McCree a scowl. “Who gives a toss about all this? I thought you said there’d be fireworks!”

“You don’t think this is even remotely noteworthy?” Lena asks, exasperated.

“Not really. He’d fit right in on Sunwuko,” Junkrat says, leaping to his feet.

“Sunwuko? Is that another world?” McCree asks.

“Aye.  Your royal hubby don’t tell you much, does he?”

McCree tenses at the remark.  McCree clenches his fist, embarrassed to have revealed to anyone just how deep his remark cut.  Nonetheless, he says, "One of twelve, including Earth?"

Junkrat snaps to him, counting on his fingers before agreeing, "Yeah, s'pose that does add up.  So?"

Lena shushes them both.

Dr. Winston says, “As you can see, with the magnanimous favor from our sister, Hanamura, we have been able to civilize and educate a great ape, so that he may join our society, and contribute his intellect to our pursuit of greater knowledge. You have spoken with us already. Would you like to say a few more words to the world, and to the galaxy?”

“As the first gorilla to ever do so, it would be my distinct honor,” Winston answers. The doctor moves aside, and the great ape takes his place at the podium. After a breath, he clears his throat. His voice booms through the mic as he says, “Thank you, Dr. Winston, my dear father, and to all the fine people who are watching on this monumental occasion for our planet, and perhaps what will be the most important day of my life. I know it is strange to hear me speak, as you do, and to think, as you do. I am not human, yet I knew of no other way to think since I was a baby, being raised up there. The place where I first learned of the love and kindness of the human heart. More than just theoretical physics, more than just science, that is the foundation I cherish, and wish to live up to.”

“Therefore I open my heart to you, people of Earth, with the hope that you will open your heart to me. You lifted me up, and tempered my instincts with knowledge. You gave me dreams. You gave me imagination. I will never take these things for granted, and with good fortune, I will not be the last of the great apes to walk beside you, my evolutionary cousins. With our unique perspectives adding to yours, we will make leaps toward the betterment of every living creature on our planet, and for all planets! Thank you.”

Riotous applause rips through the square. Lena wipes a corner of her eye and sniffles beside him. Even McCree thinks his chest feels a little tight, as his moved heart wrestles with the surreality of it all. Yeah, he thinks. He wasn’t sure about other brainy, well-spoken animals in the future, but he sure could get used to this talking gorilla.

“Damn bots,” Junkrat mutters. “I don’t like the looks of ‘em.”

McCree frowns at his statement, but it succeeds in drawing his attention from Winston to the omnic troops. They shudder and convulse, and the crisp blue of their sensors blink erratically. The lights on Winston’s headset flicker as well. “What the-,” McCree says, squinting. He bumps Lena with his elbow. “You see that?”

Lena replies, “See what?” she asks, as his hand drifts to the stock of Peacekeeper holstered at his side.

Junkrat lifts a hand to his temple in mock salute. “On second thought, I’m gonna split, your royal High-dragon-ness. Been nice meetin’ you. I’ll give your regards to me mate when I’m back on Hanamura.”

“What’s wrong with them?” Lena asks, ignoring Junkrat as he limps past them.

Meanwhile, Winston shuffles aside, allowing the doctor to say into the microphone, “Winston will be working with me here on Earth at my lab in Li Jiang. I am so grateful to all of you for your warm welcome. Winston dreamed of coming to Earth since...since he was a child,” he just barely gets out before covering his lips with a hand, his cheeks damp with tears.

“Well this is a piece of feel-good news I can get behind,” Lena says. “I can’t wait to have the chance to meet him in person.”

“I’m sure we’ll all get that chance,” McCree says, his eyes still peeled between the omnics and the stage. The back of his neck prickles when suddenly, the omnics slump, their lights fading as they power down completely. A heartbeat passes, and they straighten in unison, reactivating when their eyes flashing from blue, to yellow, then to a glassy purple. Terrified yelps erupt from the crowd when they begin to march toward the stage with guns raised, with more pouring out of the APC.

“Something’s wrong," Lena says, breathless.

The doctor had stepped up to the podium to deliver his closing remarks, but he too has caught notice of the strange omnic behavior. “What is this?” he says. “Forgive us, everyone. Just a minor malfunction I am sure-,”

“Everyone out!”  Jack interrupts from the press galley, springing to action and bolting for the stage. He reflects McCree’s own instincts as blood thrums in his ears. His stomach drops when the light on Winston’s crown changes, too, matching the color of the omnics’ eyes.

The omnics suddenly point their guns up and open fire into the air. Windows shatter, and screams ring out through the canyon of towers.  The sparse outfit of human Helix Security guards pull their weapons and destroy several, but are quickly pinned down by return fire.  The crowd undulates with people turning and fleeing in a general stampede. Chaos reigns as the crowds roil in a panic below where McCree and Lena stand, egressing from the square as rapidly as molasses.

“Stand down!” the doctor shouts. When the omnics ignore him, Winston steps forward, his body shielding him from the omnics closing in. He calls out, and nods towards the limousine.  Jack dashes out from the press gallery, gesturing for the doctor toward the vehicle. Winston then leaps towards the omnics with fangs bared. He brings his massive arms in vicious swipes, crumpling the rogue omnics like soda cans.

“What do we do?” Lena says. “They’re out of control!”

“No,” McCree growls. “They’re in control, alright. But someone else is pulling the strings.”

_Doctor Winston!_

The omnics cease their advance, and Winston pauses when the voice booms from the remaining omnics in unison, and from every loudspeaker in the square. The doctor stops short at the open limousine door, his face falling in horror. He twists about, searching across open balconies and shattered crystal windows. “A-Akande Ogundimu?”

_A fine speech, indeed. I hope Overwatch is capturing every moment!_

“How can this be? You-you should be in prison!”

_And that is where I am, though I assume you mean inside my cell. My associates, however, believe my time is better served outside. After witnessing this laughable farce you call progress, I could not agree with them more._

“Talon,” McCree mutters. He notices Jack switch on his visor, his expression severe as he conducts his own fruitless scan of the vicinity.

Dr. Winston shouts, “What is it you want?”

_Quite simply, to evolve. Much like your pet, you see, except that we see peaceful coexistence for what it is: an illusion!_

“I don’t-! I just-, ugh!” Winston grunts, doubling over. His headset pulsates.

“Leave him alone!” the doctor shouts, horrified.

Lena hisses at McCree. “Do something!”

“‘Bout read my mind, little lady.” McCree drops his chin, drawing Peacekeeper and stepping forward. Peacekeeper thrums, coming alive with his dead eye’s murderous intent. He anticipates red circles to collapse over fatal strikes across the line of omnics surrounding those caught in the square. Once locked, he would squeeze the trigger, fanning his metal hand over the hammer of the gun. With six cracks, all of the omnics surrounding the limousine would crumple into dead heaps.

He lurches. A bead of sweat rolls down his cheek as his temples spasm with effort, but the red curtain does not fall. When he finally feels its electronics respond, the curtain is black, oozing over him like tar, shutting out all light. Then, a jolt of searing pain strikes him, like his eye had been shot out all over again. He lurches again with a grunt, doubling over with it.

He only vaguely hears Lena call to him, as if he were sinking into quicksand.  "Jesse!  What's the matter?"

"What-" he croaks as his throat seizes from the pain throbbing through his skull. He blinks rapidly, but sight in his right eye does not return. _Blind._ He’s _blind_ in his dead eye.

_Red? Red!_

The call to his dragon echoes through silence in his mind, as though he were shouting into a bottomless pit. More than the scene unfolding before him, the unnerving quiet turns his blood to ice. There is no reassurance from his dragon, only the sensation of being watched- no, not watched. _Tracked_. 

"Jesse!" Lena calls to him again, this time shaking him by the shoulder.  He snaps to her, pushing through his utter confusion.  He straightens, making a conscious effort to stay focused on the present circumstances.  

An acrid chuckle replies from the loudspeakers.

_Jesse McCree. The red dragon, spouse of the Dragon Lord, has graced us with his presence. You are strong, I grant you. I admire strength. But as you can see, your road is a dead end. Where is your power when you are so far from Heaven?_

McCree glances about, scanning as well as he can with only his biological eye. 

_You should join us. Do you truly believe he sees you as his equal?_

He grimaces.

_The truth is that you will never be. Your former mentor believes the Dragon Lord has corrupted your sight, but I wish to extend to you a way out. Earth has no need of dragons.  It never has! If and when you accept the truth, Talon will be waiting to accept you with open arms.  Well?_

Finally, McCree finds his voice. “You’ll pardon me if I don’t find your reasoning very persuasive!”

_Until then, have fun cleaning up after your natural enemies._

“Wait!” he shouts. “You tell me where Gabriel is, and we’ll settle this!”

“What the-,” Winston says, bringing a meaty paw up to palpate his headset. As he glances as the omnics resume hostility, just before his eyes screw shut with agony. Panicked, he says to the doctor at the limo, “Get everyone out of here!”

“What?” Dr. Winston says. “What’s happening to you!”

“Go!” Winston urges, prompting Jack to shepherd the befuddled doctor into his limousine. The vehicle crawls forward, splitting the crowd like a stone in a river. Meanwhile, Winston’s headset flickers again, and the gorilla clutches his head and bellows, his fangs flashing.

“Winston!” the doctor calls from the window of the limousine. “Winston!”

“I-I-...” Winston starts, baring his teeth in a snarl. “Just go! I’m-I’m…! So angry!” Red hot rage swells, making him grow twice as large, and crackling like lightning out of the corners of his eyes.  His glasses fly off, and he thumps his chest.

Though the crowds thin as people recede into alleys and buildings, but the vehicle can still only creep forward. To protect the limousine, McCree cracks off a shot aimed just ahead of the beast’s feet. Winston snorts as he snaps to McCree, his nostrils flaring at him.

“You can’t kill him!” Lena shouts.

“I know. But we have to get him away from the people!” McCree shouts back.

He succeeds better than he anticipated. Winston roars, thumping his chest before taking an incredible leap towards the walkway. Fanged teeth and meaty arms come straight at him. Lena darts away in a streak of light, and McCree rolls away just as Winston swipes his enormous arm across, narrowly turning him into paste.

McCree rolls back onto his feet, and when the beast turns to swipe again, McCree reaches to his belt and rips a flashbang. It connects with Winston’s face dead on. Blinded, he bellows with rage. With a flick of his wrist, McCree spins, loads, and clicks six fresh rounds into Peacekeeper’s chamber.

Winston’s crown glints with the strange purple light. He has little time to ponder it when Winston flails, blindly, forcing him to dive and roll once again. He leaps down from the walkway, his knees and ankles complaining when he lands with a hard thud. On street level, he finds a fresh contingent of omnic guards taking aim at him at his crouched form. He holds up Peacekeeper, fanning the hammer as he drops half a dozen in the blink of an eye. But as he reloads, more step in over their slain comrades. He awaits the sharp pain of bullets to rip through him.

Suddenly, a device no larger than a shoebox clatters just ahead of him. In the next instant, blue light of a a barrier bursts out from it. The omnic’s rifle shots absorb harmlessly into the shield. Return fire peppers through the air over his head, and sparks fly as assault rounds tear myriad holes through the robots. They clatter to the ground, and McCree whips around. His heart swells when next to him, the same OR-15 he met before, Orisa, advances behind him.

“Everyone! Move behind my barrier!” Orisa calls.

With broad sweeps of his arm, Jack continues to herd the limousine, his press crew, and remaining stragglers behind the barrier and away from the violence. With his other arm he cradles a rifle, looking as he did during the rebellion.

As he passes by, McCree says, “Old habits die hard, don’t they?”

Jack huffs, bringing the piece to rest on his shoulder. “Never leave home without it.” He nods to Orisa. “Seems this is the only battle-ready omnic not affected. Can you borrow her and keep our gorilla friend busy while we get these people out?”

It’s not an optional question, or even one he has a chance to answer when a roar tears through the air above. McCree rolls just before Winston’s feet slam down, buckling the pavement beneath them.

“Shit. _Shit!_ ” McCree hisses, scrambling to his feet and breaking into a sprint, away from the crowd, hoping the enraged gorilla will take the bait while also praying that he won’t. He glances back over his shoulder to see Winston break into a gallop after him, his knuckles carrying him with the momentum of a freight train.

Then, just as he expects Winston to crush every bone in his body, Orisa’s robotic voice calls out.

“Halt right there!”

A orb of green light emits a lash that tangles around Winston’s ankles. The lash pulls taut and yanks him back and off of his feet. McCree stops as Orisa gallops to place herself between him and Winston, her right arm up to guard, and her left gatling gun aimed. “You are advised to cease your attack!” she shouts.

McCree feels a flood of relief and awe at the omnic, briefly wondering if it ran on a separate network, or if Efi programmed in some airtight firewalls. _Both. Probably both_ , he thinks.

His relief is short-lived when Winston rises, shaking off the stun after being so rudely hindered. His teeth bare, and spittle flies as he roars at Orisa’s interference.

“We can’t hurt him. He’s not himself!” McCree shouts to Orisa.

“Directive acknowledged,” she says. She disengages her gatling arm. “Running non-lethal force algorithm. Probability of success: very low.”

McCree gumbles more obscenities as he readies Peacekeeper.  Winston roars again, and charges them.

“Routing navigation to defense,” Orisa says, and a glow of light surrounds her chassis. Winston’s fist slams into Orisa’s raised right arm, the blast of air nearly knocking McCree’s hat from his head. Another wave of awe comes over him when Orisa does not budge an inch, and she throws off the full weight of Winston pressing against her.

She turns to McCree. “Assistance requested.”

He aims Peacekeeper as Winston dashes toward them, but he shakes his head, his right eye still blinded. “I don’t know what I can do that don’t drop him dead, lady!”

He lurches when a raucous boom suddenly splits the air. McCree looks up, catching only the edges of a shadow passing overhead. A heavy clang rings out just ahead of Winston, where a nasty-looking bear trap planted and loaded. Winston’s momentum carries him forward across the trap, and its teeth close over Winston’s leg with a snap. He bellows in pain, and thrashes, but the sturdy device keeps him moored.

The shadow lands, and there, Junkrat cackles. “Gotcha!”

A blue streak of light zips past, causing McCree to blink rapidly. The light zips past again, and with it, the headset tears loose from the top of Winston’s head in a shower of sparks. A third zip darts past, and this time, the headpiece shatters into millions of glittering pieces.

The effect is immediate. Winston's roars dwindle as his eyes regain their normal state, and the red color of his fur drains away. He shrinks back to his normal - though still quite large - size, collapsing back onto his haunches with the trap still biting into his leg.

All around them, the purple light of the commandeered omnics blink out, and they too crumple in deactivated heaps.

“Threat neutralized,” Orisa declares. She turns to Junkrat. “Your assistance has been appreciated.”

“Ain’t no thanks I’ll take from some bot,” he spits. “But it’s not everyday you get a chance to nab a rampaging monster!” Wistfully, “Reminds me of me childhood.” To McCree, he says, “But if you really want to make it up to me, maybe you’ll put in a good word for me with the big man, eh?”

McCree smiles, finding himself strangely amused by Junkrat’s pluck. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“That’s all I ask!”

“Don’t give him all the credit.”

The blue streak of light zips back, materializing into Lena. “He wouldn’t have lifted a finger if I hadn’t persuaded ‘im.”

Junkrat scoffs at her, but McCree can only stare in shock when he says, “Lena? That was you?”

She bows her chin, sighing. “It’s a long story,” she says quickly, then points a thumb to Winston. “Why don’t we help him out of that thing first?”

Junkrat eyes Winston, the latter clutching his pinched leg with teeth bared. “Uh, right. You sure about that? He might be civilized, but he’s still a wounded beast. Might still be dangerous.”

“I’m alright,” Winston answers for himself. The gorilla grunts, massaging the torn flesh below his knee. “But I have to concur with your friend. You might want to have put me in a cage first,” Winston says. “If only for your own peace of mind, at least.”

“We’ll take it from here,” McCree says.

“If you say so...your funeral if you’re wrong.” Junkrat fumbles with a slapdash device, muttering something about how he hopes it’s the right one. He depresses a button on it with his thumb, and the trap around Winston’s ankle clicks and falls open.

“Are you alright?” Lena asks Winston, approaching him.

Winston snorts. “Aside from a sore foot and my eternal state of mortification, I suppose I am.”

She frowns, asking, “What happened?”

“It was as if my body acted on its own, I was on the outside looking in.” He tears off the rest of the torn wiring of the headpiece from his head, turning it over to examine it. “This device is supposed to dampen my more primal instincts. But somehow, someone found a way to reverse it so that it would have the opposite effect.”

McCree grits his teeth. “Talon.”

Winston cocks his head to the side, but before he can speak again, he gasps at Lena. He leans in to examine her closely.

“What-,” she starts.

“That’s my chronal harness!” he blurts.

Lena reels. “It was a gift to Overwatch when Lucheng Interstellar got word of my accident.”

“Accident?” McCree repeats. “You mean, the ‘hazard’ you ran into?”

Winston says, “But I designed that very one. They took it away when it was just a prototype. They said the potential was too risky,” Winston’s curiosity compels him to drag himself closer to examine it. “Um, sorry,” he says, remembering himself.

But Lena steps closer to him, meekly. She extends her hand, placing it on his broad shoulder. “You’re the reason I can stay solid in the present,” she says. “I was there, reporting on the test of the Slipstream.”

Winston’s eyes widen. “I heard about that! What a tragedy. I thought everything had all disappeared!”

Lena acknowledges McCree’s look of shock with a tilt of her chin. She then says to Winston, “It’s a long story, but thanks to you, I feel normal again.”

In her other palm, she offers him his glasses. A lens is cracked. Winston smiles anyway, pinching the frame between his thick fingers.  But when looks up to her, his expression grows sullen once more. “Thanks. But perhaps you should be afraid. I almost killed someone today. Not my greatest first impression.”

“Well, I’m not afraid. We know it’s not your fault,” Lena says, gesturing to the shattered remains of his headset.

Winston smiles weakly. “And to whom do I make the acquaintance?”

“Lena. Lena Oxton.”

“A pleasure to meet you, miss Oxton, and…?”

“McCree. Jesse McCree.”

His eyes alight as he rests his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. “McCree? The so-called Dragon of Earth?  Goodness me, this day just keeps getting worse. Sorry I um, almost converted you into a fine red mist. Aside from murder, starting an intergalactic incident would also not look good on my record either."  He finishes with a mirthless chuckle.

“Nice to meet you, too,” McCree says, chuckling. “No harm done, so no hard feelin’s.”

“We’ll be sure to have that go on record,” Lena says. “This will be hard to explain to Hanamura, and to reassure the people of Earth. I don’t envy our diplomats.”

McCree says, “I think we'll all agree that Talon's got to be stopped.”

“Talon,” Lena repeats. Her brow furrows. “By the way, something happen to your eye? It seems a little dark.”

McCree turns from her, insisting, “I’m fine."  He was, kind of.  The foreign presence had receded, but Red still remains disconcertingly absent.  

Lena sighs, looking over the dead omnics and cracks pavement. “Just where are you going to start? They won’t be found unless they want to be.”

“I think I could help with that,” Winston offers.

Suddenly, the drone of an alarm blares from the museum. Those gathered jump at the noise, searching one another in confusion.  Windows shutter, and red lights pulsate in time with the alarm.

"Fire?" Lena says.

"Wait," McCree says, spotting someone dash out from the top of the museum steps.  A technician in a lab coat flies down toward them, nearly stumbling at the last step. He cries out, “Help! Somebody, help!”

“What’s goin on?” McCree asks him when the technician comes to a stop, hunched over as the he gasps for breath.

“It’s, it’s the President!” he starts. “They killed him! And they took it! It’s gone!”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback with kudos and/or comments is always appreciated! Helps me stay committed.


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